


Schemes and Dreams and Kisses and Things

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: In the hopes of getting a first kiss from Crowley, Aziraphale hangs the largest ball of mistletoe he can find over his desk. And then ... he waits.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037904
Comments: 17
Kudos: 141
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020





	Schemes and Dreams and Kisses and Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt 'mistletoe'.

Aziraphale looks up.

He looks up again. 

He double-checks obsessively to see that it’s still there. 

Why wouldn’t it be? He hung it up only a few hours ago. Then he checked on it – _twice_. He looks, on average, three times every five minutes.

His neck is beginning to smart.

He tacked it up good and tight. There's no reason for it to fall. Besides, if it falls, it would fall right on him. No need to keep checking. 

That’s what he tells himself.

But a minute later, he checks again.

Aziraphale had waited until after the wine had been drunk, the cookies eaten, and a sated Crowley had retreated to the sofa in the bookshop's backroom before he hung the mistletoe directly above his desk chair, making sure it was in the perfect spot for Crowley to catch him sitting under it. It's the largest ball of mistletoe he could find - a massive floral bezoar wrapped in red velvet ribbon and adorned with a silver bell. Three poor birds have flown into his window already, attempting to get at the thing.

There should be no escaping this for either of them.

Aziraphale is determined.

He has every intention of sitting underneath the darned thing until Crowley gives him a kiss. On the lips, the forehead, the cheek - it doesn't matter. Just some combination of Crowley's mouth on his skin would be deemed acceptable.

Crowley and Aziraphale have been more than casual visitors in one another’s daily lives going on five months now. One might even say they’ve become closer to intendeds. In the traditional sense. Crowley drops by, they have tea, they talk, but that's the extent of it. To date, as far as securing a kiss is concerned, they haven't even come close.

Sadly, mistletoe is the best idea he’s had for getting one. 

Of course, he should probably learn to say the words, “Crowley, I really wish you would kiss me,” before relying on props like this semi-parasitic shrub. Regardless, he’s going to sit there, book in hand, and wait for Crowley to notice. Because what’s the use of mistletoe if Aziraphale points it out? He might as well go up and kiss Crowley, right? If that’s the case, he should have done it months ago.

 _God_ , Aziraphale realizes with wide-eyed intensity, _I should have kissed him months ago._

Aziraphale glances up again and sighs.

Yes, he should have. But when it comes to Crowley, Aziraphale can be a bit of a coward. He's not too proud to admit that.

He’s not going to push. He’s waited 6000 years. What’s another one? Or ten? Or hundred? Now that they’re together, he’s going to let things progress at their own speed. 

Even if that speed is the excruciating crawl of another seventy-five human lifetimes.

A groan.

A mumble.

A curse.

A shuffle.

These are the sounds of a demon rising to greet the day.

Well ... the afternoon.

And Aziraphale’s brain stops working.

There had been several close calls when Aziraphale thought Crowley was getting out of bed, but he simply rolled over and fell back to sleep.

Not this time.

Aziraphale feels every step Crowley takes, the wood floor creaking as he navigates a path with eyes shut to Aziraphale's small kitchenette, putting on a pot of water for coffee. Aziraphale hears Crowley hum to himself - a mixture of an ear-worm Christmas tune and a song Aziraphale vaguely recognizes as being performed by the band Queen. 

A love song to a velocipede, he thinks?

Aziraphale taps his toe anxiously as he waits ... waits ... waits, shifting positions, trying to figure out which version of him reading Faust seems more casual. With his elbow resting on his desktop? Or him reclining back in his chair? 

Aziraphale pops bolt upright when he hears Crowley click off the stovetop and pour. He crosses his legs when Crowley's heavy footsteps head his way, then uncrosses them when Crowley finally emerges. He's dressed in the same clothes he fell asleep in - swanky black trousers and jacket, a grey silk shirt, his glasses fixed firmly onto the bridge of his nose. He miracled the wrinkles out of his clothes and his hair into a semblance of neat waves, but he still looks like he slept in the gutter outside. He walks in carrying two steaming mugs, raising one as an offering and a greeting.

“Uh, hello, my dear,” Aziraphale says, fighting with all his might not to glance upward. 

Eyes half-lidded, Crowley sets one of the mugs in front of Aziraphale. “Hey, angel. Here ya go.” 

“Oh. Thank you. That's very kind of you." Aziraphale toys with his mug, turning it left and right. The coffee is cloudy, but not with cream. A sniff tells him that Crowley topped off his mug with a generous dollop of Bailey's. _Thank goodness!_ he thinks. _Liquid courage._ Even with this good fortune staring him in the face, Aziraphale doesn't lift his mug to drink. "Any plans for today, dear boy?"

"Hmm ... not really." Crowley yawns. "Thought I might just hang 'round here, bother you if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," Aziraphale says. "It's always wonderful having you around."

"Great. Oh, by the way, your book’s upside down." 

"Uh ..." Aziraphale flips to the cover and discovers that yes, indeed, it's upside down. So much for casual. “Thank you.” 

"Don't mention it. I'm headin' back to the sofa. You should join me, read your book there."

"Should I?"

"Mm-hmm." Crowley takes a sip from his mug. "How else am I to bother you if we're in two separate rooms?"

Aziraphale nods. "Yes. I see. Well, in that case, I'll be right in."

"Fantastic."

Aziraphale sighs as Crowley passes in front of him, staring into his cup, missing the mistletoe entirely. 

_That was a disaster,_ Aziraphale thinks. One for the record books. 

Wasn't he determined to sit under the mistletoe until Crowley kissed him? 

Yes, but he doesn't want to turn down an invitation to spend time together either. 

Maybe he can bring the mistletoe with him into the backroom, sneakily set it up in there. Crowley probably wouldn't notice if he Aziraphale hung it _not so sneakily_. He looks like he has one foot stuck knee-deep into unconsciousness as is. 

A step through the threshold, Crowley stops when he notices Aziraphale isn't following him. He takes a step back and looks at him - book closed around his index finger, cheeks pink, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, eyes aimed down at his feet. He looks embarrassed about something. 

And disappointed.

It can't really be because Crowley interrupted his reading. Aziraphale has read that book thousands of times. Which is probably why he was reading it upside down. More of a challenge for him.

But Crowley didn't get up for coffee. 

He got up to give Aziraphale his Christmas present.

Early.

Mostly because Crowley can't wait. 

If he doesn't give Aziraphale his present now, Crowley will think up a dozen reasons why he should wait.

A dozen bullshite reasons.

"Aziraphale?" he strolls over to his angel, waking inch by inch with every step he takes, and sets his coffee mug on the desk.

"Yes, my dear?" Aziraphale looks up. "What is ...?"

With a sleepy but mischievous smile on his lips, Crowley puts a hand behind Aziraphale's neck and kisses him, drawing out the moment before, giving his angel all the opportunity in the world to tell him to stop.

But Aziraphale says no such thing.

Crowley’s mouth is soft and warm and tastes like Bailey’s, but what Aziraphale loves about this kiss is it’s in no way urgent, the way high-romance novels make people believe all kisses should be. According to the lovely publishers at Harlequin, first kisses must be desperate to be passionate, painfully so. 

Crowley kisses Aziraphale as if he's claiming something that has always belonged to him, something he lost track of, and he wants to savor it. Crowley kisses Aziraphale as if they could stand there all morning long, all day long, and kiss, and Crowley would be perfectly content. This is where their Tuesday is going to begin and end - with Crowley kissing Aziraphale.

Crowley pulls away grinning, but Aziraphale looks dumbfounded, not a single word left in his head to express the thoughts sparking off one by one like fireworks.

"Wot?" Crowley asks, mildly self-conscious that his plan may have not gone off the way he'd hoped.

“Uh ... oh ... mistletoe?” Aziraphale asks, eyes darting up towards the obvious culprit behind this moment.

“No,” Crowley says. “I’ve wanted to do that for months now. I just never got the chance.”

"Oh."

"So ... you gonna let me bother you?" Crowley teases, and for the first time, Aziraphale catches on to the fact that _bother_ in this context means _kiss_.

Perhaps more.

And yes, Aziraphale definitely wants that.

"That sounds ... lovely." He stands from his desk chair and takes Crowley's hand, leaving his ridiculous bundle of mistletoe, and their coffees, behind.


End file.
